


Salvation

by joanwatsonisaqueen



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen, a little family, daddy mummy and daughter, first elementary fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanwatsonisaqueen/pseuds/joanwatsonisaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Of course you will. You take after your mother."</p><p>At the very least, they have grown fond towards each other. At the very most, they have become a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you at least think this wtf shit is decent because it sure as hell doesn't make sense to me. (i still posted it WHAT)
> 
> ALSO MEMES (memes)
> 
> ignore me pls. read on.

#  __

He’s adamant that he’s right. Sherlock Holmes is still blaming her for leaving _first._ He’s blaming her for leaving the Brownstone, and their work. He’s blaming her for not sharing her pain, worries and anxieties.Sherlock is blaming his former partner for his nightmares full of guilt, for the craving of drugs, for falling short on his abilities, for remembering her every moment during his time in London. It’s a game of ‘it was her, she did it first’ and both of them know it’s not going to end well. It never had a good foundation in the first place.

She knows it’s better not to argue with a man who has changed for the better of himself. Joan Watson has gotten over it. She has left behind his antics, decisions, and ridiculous arguments. Funny, Joan had thought maybe, just maybe, he would have the decency to let down his egoistic attitude and actually cooperate. But no, _she_ has to apologise. Joan has to apologise for fending a small life for herself. She has to apologise for leaving him, for asking for a little bit of space for a small while, for having to take a break from the work and for wanting to be emotionally stable after the kidnapping.

The third wheel- Kitty likes to call herself that- watches the drama from afar. His attitude is getting on her nerves, and Kitty Winter once was told by her father that she should only follow her skills. She was told to not be under other’s orders or be bossed around by anyone, let alone Sherlock Holmes. But she has no option. If she leaves, then there will be no vengeance. Sherlock is her tool to get to the men, and Kitty has to keep her mouth shut to complete the task.

“Half of these arrangements are in the wrong order, Miss Winter. Your deductive muscles are underwhelming, and I assure you that, at this rate, you will be far less than competent.” He scorns without even looking up from the files. There’s a tone in his voice that is screaming out “ _you’re the complete definition of useless’_ and she bites her tongue to prevent herself from lashing out.

The doorbell rings and his posture becomes ram-rod straight. The concept that he can maintain it for a full length of two hours is absolutely ridiculous, so she refrains from commenting. Joan Watson is here. Sherlock glares at her as he passes by, deliberately stepping on the folders to jumble her work. Her tongue is getting tired of being bitten on a continuous basis.

A whiff of perfume engulf her senses as the consulting detective steps in. He quietly gestures for her to come inside, and she distantly obliges. Kitty turns around to face her, and watches the scene intriguingly.

“Captain Gregson wanted the files back.” Her tone is impersonal, and Sherlock subtly flinches. 

“Of course. As soon as I finish perusing, it’ll be returned to the NYPD.”

“Actually, he wanted them back tonight.”

He bends down to frustratingly gather the files, and retorts a remark back at her before realising it’s already out of his mouth.

“I see that they’ve acquired a new messenger to do their errands for them.” Old habits die hard.

She doesn’t hesitate to reply back coolly.

“Well, Mr Holmes, they realised that their former consultant wasn’t very adapting and hired someone who was not only a good consulting detective, but was also decisive and cooperative. “

Kitty stifles a smile at her comment, and Sherlock’s reaction.

“Watson-”

“Have a good night, Sherlock.” She nods brusquely and storms out.

His head hangs down low, before he stalks out of the room knocking his locks down in the process.

“Quite the maturity.” She mumbles before returning her attention back to the papers.

*****

When Kitty walks in the precinct, she first notices the tense figure in one of the conference rooms. It’s obvious, really.

“Uh, where’s the Captain?” Joan looks up to see Kitty peering in the door, half curious and half reluctant.

“Interviewing a suspect. Marcus is around, if you need him.” She focuses again on the details.

Kitty stands at the edge of the door and watches her curiously. Her case readings seem so much like Sherlock that it doesn’t cease to surprise her.

“Something wrong?” Joan’s eyes can see that she is holding herself back.

“Ah, no, everything’s fine. Good.”

“You know, Sherlock can do the asking himself.” It’s the first time she has seen Joan Watson give a wry smile, a smile nonetheless, and something tells Kitty that Holmes and Watson were quite the partners once.

She doesn’t reply and silently closes the door to give her peace.

****

He hears her pick the lock and ignores it. But when he sees her dishevelled hair, bruised arms and the blood streaming down her face, he realises something has gone awfully wrong.

Kitty rushes in with the first aid box, but Watson is still deathly silent. He frantically inspects and bandages her injuries but she doesn’t flinch. He knows that she knows that the bruises on her limbs and the bleeding will get worse if she doesn’t seek medical attention immediately.

But the only thing he gets as a response from Joan Watson in the time period of ten minutes is a small, slow, blink of an eye. Sherlock is dreading the moment she opens her mouth.

“He’s dead.” One drawn breath.

“Was trying to help a woman being robbed.” One twitch of a finger.

“Shot dead by thugs. Bullet went right through his temple.” Three rapid blinks.

He knows he needs to speak up.

“Watson, who’s hurt?”

“My papa’s dead.

Sherlock takes in a sharp intake of breath. Kitty turns to face the walls, unable to hold eye contact.

Police lights flash outside the Brownstone and Captain Gregson and Marcus run in the door.

“She needs hospital, Sherlock.”

Joan looks up and her expression swiftly changes. It’s not long before Sherlock is holding her back from hitting anyone.

“ _I am not going anywhere until I find the fucking bastards who took my father away. I will find them and you won’t stop me.”_ Nobody has ever seen her so livid, and it terrifies them all to see what she is capable of.

“Watson-Watson, it’s alright-please, Watson.” His hands tighten around her shoulders and she drops down on the armchair unwillingly.

Kitty gives her a glass of water, and she sips before slamming it down on the table. It’s the cue for the officers to rush out.

Sherlock doesn’t say anything and she appreciates it more than anything he has done. He just holds her hand tightly –an indication of a strong presence –and gives her the time to contain herself. Kitty fills an empty space beside the books.

Watson lets out a cynical laugh. “I heard the noises. When I went there, I saw my father trying to stop a robbery. I screamed his name. I saw the gun.” She lets her head fall back and Sherlock feels the bile rising in his throat.

“He recognised me this time. Told his Joanie to help, but my running was too slow for the gunshot. By the time I got to him, he was dead. Grey matter splayed on the walls. People ran over hearing the gunshot; called the ambulance; tried to hold me back. But I ran after them. Tried to chase the men but they got away. I climbed wires, jumped fences, fired shots but they still got away Sherlock.” Her hands pull themselves out of his grasp and Joan tries to hastily run out the door.

Again, Sherlock stops her. She struggles to wriggle out of his grasp, but he proves too strong.

“Watson, listen to me. You are-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as she falls in his arms, unconscious. When his fingers reach her pulse, his heart beat quickens.  It is irregularly low.

“Kitty, get an ambulance now. Call the Captain in.” She hurriedly follows his instructions, casting an anxious glance over Joan Watson’s lifeless figure. Sherlock lifts her in his arms gently; his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He won’t let anything happen to her.

“We will find them, Watson. It’s a promise.”

*******

“Mr Holmes?”

He looks up from his fingers to see a young doctor approaching him, and grimaces as he stands up too fast.

“I am Dr Goulding, and I am treating Ms Watson.” Sherlock Holmes can deduce a person from the littlest of evidence. This Dr James Goulding gives a lot away, but for the first time he falls short of his deduction abilities. There is nothing Holmes can see.

His voice comes out as a mixture of dread and panic. “How is she now?”

“She is currently in a non-life threating condition, but we need to keep watch over her for a few days. I assure you, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you Doctor.” He glances at the sleeping figure and sits back down dejectedly.

*******

Kitty jolts awake in a very uncomfortable position. Watson is awake and is staring right at Sherlock –who is dead asleep on floor next to the bed, a hand on her pulse.

Her eyes then travel to her in the chair, before noticing the strewn papers around the floor.

“The case files.” She is asking for the thing Kitty is not allowed to give her, but something in her voice makes her agree. She’s heard it before. The story is too familiar.

Sherlock stirs awake from the noise and reads the scene in an instant.

“I am sorry Watson. I can’t let you.”

“I am a detective, and I need to see this.” She carefully bites out every syllable, ignoring the increasing pounding in her head.

“You are not well enough to-”

“I am well enough to give justice to my father.” The rain starts pouring down in New York, and Kitty puts her feet down firmly on the floor.

Sherlock fidgets for a while, not wanting to create this into an argument.

“It wasn’t a robbery. It was made to look like one.  Watson, your father was murdered.” The snapping of her jaw is clearly audible across the room.

“I-” Joan can’t stop it any longer. Her face contorts, before a tear falls and a stream of muffled sobs follows. She buries her face in the pillow, frantically trying to stop her tears from flowing.

“It’s all my fault. I could’ve saved him.” Her voice breaks as the wind howls outside.

Sherlock stands up, gently puts an arm around her shoulder and lets her finally grieve.

“There was nothing more you could do, Watson.”

Kitty’s voice rings loudly across the room. “You know, Watson, my father used to say that we all have something important to do in this world. We all have something to fight for.” She is looking straight at Joan, a distant smile playing on her lips.

“When he lay dying in my arms, he told me to promise him that I wouldn’t accept defeat. In my subdued moments, I thought it was hard to understand his riddles. Now, I realise he was right. For me, it was too late. Maybe for you, it’s all just a beginning Watson.”

*****

From the glass view, she watches her father’s murderer smugly confessing his crimes; laying down his arms down on the table.

_She has the urge to hurt him so badly, but Joan Watson knows this is not what her father would’ve wanted._

Sherlock stands by her knowing everything, a mixture of pride and sadness on his face.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But there are promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.” He recites the poem in the very tone she used when she gave him the frame. It isn’t long before her head is resting on his shoulder, a display of gratitude for his presence. He leans in to reciprocate the action.

 In the corner, Kitty stands shaking very lightly, trying her hardest to stop the tears from coming out.

*****

**One Year Later**

“You did this for me, Watson?”

“Well, it’s what you have always wanted to be, right? You wanted to be a detective at the Gardaí. Now, you have the job.”

“I cannot-” Kitty shakes her head in negative.

“I did nothing, Kitty. You are far more than competent and you deserve this. I just sent in a reference. Sherlock helped. That’s the long and the short of it.”

Something in Kitty’s eyes make her lips curve upwards in a smile. She is ecstatic.

“You have something to fight for now.” Sherlock repeats the sentence, sharing a knowing glance with Joan.

****

“Sherlock, she’s not a five year old. I am pretty sure she can take care of herself.” They all stand at the airport, unwilling to leave. Sherlock hasn’t spoken in the day, which is nagging her continuously. In contrast, Kitty has blabbered on and on –a very rare occurrence.  

They are all stuck in the middle of a Sherlock rant that has been going for approximately twenty minutes. He starts from the little necessities she would need in Ireland to the point where he is in full overprotective papa bear mode.

“Just try not to hit him on the way back home.” Kitty beams, picking up her luggage.

“I can’t promise you anything.”

Now, Joan decides, is the right time.

“Oh, Kitty, this is for you.” She hands her a beautifully wrapped box, and Sherlock instantly knows what it is.

“Honestly, Watson, I have to say this is one of the best gifts you have-” He stops midway sheepishly, noticing her rather frustrated glare.

“Do you mind?”

“Well my dear Watson, a recent study shows that the human capacity to converse in moments like this-”

“Just ignore him; otherwise you’ll miss your flight.” She thrusts the package into her hands.

In a sentimental moment, Kitty grabs both of their hands.

“Thank you for everything. Thank you giving me a family.” Her voice is soft, on the verge of teary so Joan puts her empty hand over theirs. Sherlock rapidly blinks his tears back.  

“Thank you for letting us.”

They watch her walk away, all smiles, occasionally turning back to reassure them that she would be fine.

“Your daughter, is she? It is rather hard to let them go, isn’t it?” A lady’s voice behind them breaks their reverie, and Joan ceases herself from laughing out loud.  

Somehow, Sherlock regains his composure and answers confidently.

“Yes, she is. We are very proud of our Kitty.” If this goes on for any longer, Watson isn’t going to stop herself.

The lady smiles politely and walks away, one of the many people who believe Kitty Winter is Sherlock Holmes’ and Joan Watson’s daughter. Their deduction skills are obviously not upto scratch.

“I’ve grown used to it, Watson. After all, she takes after her mother.” He breaks into smiles as she punches his arm.

“Of course she does.”

****

 

**_KW: Did you just give me a premium lock picking set?_ **

**_JW: You don’t like it?_ **

**_KW: I LOVE IT. BEST PRESENT. YOU AND DAD ARE MY FAVOURITES._ **

**_JW: Of course, Sherlock told you to refer to us as mom and dad. Of course._ **

**_KW: Fifty-six people to assume you two are my parents. It’s even more hilarious as it goes on._ **

**_JW: Okay, okay, whatever._ **

**_KW: Good night Mum and Dad._ **

**_SH: GD NGHT MY DEAR DGHTR ._ **

**_JW: Sherlock!_ **

**_KW: Can you type in a language that is at least comprehensible?_ **

**_SH: FRDM OF SPCH, IMLTHO._ **

**_JW: Ignore him. You should go to sleep now, Kitty. Tomorrow’s the big day!_ **

**_KW: I should. I’ll let you know tomorrow morning! And don’t worry, I’ll be fine._ **

**_SH: OF CRSE U WILL. U TKE AFTR YR MTHR._ **

**_JW: Of course she does, Sherlock._ **

**_KW: I’ll let you guys converse. But otherwise, I LOVE YOU BOTH._ **

**_SH: DITTO, DEAR DGHTR. WTSN AND I LVE U 2._ **

**_JW: WOW. I think I need a drink._ **

******

“Watson?”

She turns around, a curious look playing around her features. Sherlock is standing there, a basketball in his hands, but not facing her eyes.

She lets out a grin. “You are not going to throw that at my face, are you?”

He actually chokes.

“Clyde wanted his parents to look after him together, just like they used to five years ago.”

Her hands stop midway in organising the files.

“What’s his suggestion then?”

“Well, Clyde thought it would be best if father apologised to mother for his flighty act.”

She doesn’t know what to say anymore.

“He suggested taking her to a Mets game tonight. And then opera, tomorrow night.” Joan can practically hear Sherlock vibrating with nervousness.

“So Watson, what do you say? Would you want to help them reconcile?”

“It wasn’t a divorce anyway.” She shakes her head, as memories flood her mind.  

Joan turns around to face Sherlock standing with his eyes teary.

“Will you be my partner, Watson?” He gets down on one knee, and Joan can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Are you proposing with a diamond ring?”

“Why do you always ruin my surprises?” Now, it’s his turn to laugh seeing the shock register on Joan’s features.

He takes out a present from the basketball case.

“That’s not a real basketball?”

“It could’ve been a knife, Watson.”

She finally sees a frame with beautifully detailed drawings of Euglassia Watsonia adorning its sides, and in the middle sits a ring engraved: _Watson._ She has never seen anything like it.

Sherlock again goes on a rant. “It cannot be worn, but I ensured that it would represent you as best as it could. If you don’t like it, I could get you something else-”

Her voice stops his ramble midway. “It’s beautiful, Sherlock. _Thank you_.”

His hands find hers, and they never seem to let go.

“Thank you for everything, my dear Watson.” Sherlock’s hands are full of the harrowing cases that have passed between them, but they still contain the warmth as they did five years ago.

Just as they are on the verge of being sentimental, Joan speaks up.

“I have something for you too.”

She hands him a box, watching his every move. Sherlock opens it to see it full of case files, from all over the world. To say that he is thrilled is an understatement at the moment.

“I thought maybe it would be best to gift you with the toughest cases from around the world.”

There’s an exciting gleam in his eye that she has never seen before and he throws an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close and pressing a kiss on her forehead.

“Oh my dear Watson, what would I ever do without you?”

*****

It’s the day of Kitty’s wedding, and Sherlock is sitting in her favourite armchair, feet up, reading the newspaper.

“Sherlock, you can’t just sit there and waste time. The ceremony stars in less than an hour.”

Mrs Hudson waves him off. “Oh forget him Joan; he’s not going to listen to you right now.”

“He’s supposed to be the _bride’s_ father.”

“And you Watson, the mother. You are not entirely ready either.” He offers a smirk from behind the paper.

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

“I love you too.”

At this Captain Gregson walks in the Brownstone, with a distressed Marcus in tow.

“Detective Bell, you are the groom. You can’t be here.” Marcus’ presence in the house is enough for Sherlock to jump up and start ushering him out the door.

“He’s nervous.” Captain’s smile is large, and Joan quickly understands the situation.

“Excited to see the bride, are we?” She can see Marcus blush a little at Sherlock’s deduction, only to regain his composure quickly.

“Captain, get him to the destination. This is a restricted zone, Detective. You will soon see your dear Kitty.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll take him out. But why aren’t you dressed yet, Holmes?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him the entire time. He’s not listening to me.”

“Honestly Joan, I don’t know how you handle this guy.” Marcus mumbles, and Captain Gregson hums in response.

“ _Excuse me?”_ The game starts and Joan internally grumbles. She clearly remembers what happened last time.

“Holmes, you need to learn to listen to others, especially to Joan.”

“In any arbitrary sense, are you implying that my listening skills are not _adequate?”_

“Joan, tell him-“

“Don’t bring _Watson_ into this, Detective Bell.”

Captain Gregson smiles, and drags Marcus out by the arm.

“I’ll see you all soon. And tell Holmes to not be a dick.”

*****

When Sherlock and Joan are dressed, they finally reach Kitty’s door.

“Can we come in?”

“Yeah, I am nearly done fixing this piece of bloody hair.”

They walk in, and stop midway in their tracks. With her bridal gown fitting her perfectly, and the hair immaculately curled, Kitty Winter looks nothing less than beautiful.

“Would you two mind?”

“I cannot _wait_ to see Detective Bell’s face.” Joan rolls her eyes at his comment, and helps her fix the little things up.

“He means that you look beautiful.”

When the touch ups are done, Kitty turns to face Joan and lets out a knowing smile.

“ _You_ look like the bride, Joan. And Sherlock, the groom. We can have two weddings.” Sherlock hides the smile that is threatening to burst out any moment.

“It’s _your_ big day, Kitty.”

They both escort her down the stairs, one step at a time, and help her in the car.

“I wish my parents were here to see this. It was their dream.” Kitty is looking at them, a smile on her face.

“But I am happier to have both of you at my side.”

The car stops at the entrance of the venue, and they all step out.

“Alright, Sherlock. _Don’t_ mess it up. I am going to go in-”

“Watson?” Kitty stops her.

“You are not going to come with me?” She can see Sherlock smiling fondly. 

“I-”

“They all say that the fathers are supposed to escort daughters down the aisle. I would like to have my mother at my side as well.”

Sherlock grabs her hand, and pulls her in. “Come on my darling wife; let us guide our daughter to the ever impatient groom.”

Joan lets out a smile and falls in with them. “I would love to.”

When they step inside the door, everyone gasps in delight and Marcus doesn’t stop staring.

Sherlock whispers quietly. “I told you he was excited.”

Kitty blushes, and Joan shares a grin with him.

***

They are all sitting at the reception, and Sherlock is standing at the stage, a mischievous gleam in his eye. Even before he starts, Joan can guarantee that this speech he has prepared will be quite a one.

“Thank you ladies and gentlemen.” He coughs to get their attention.

“As humans usually categorise each events into its importance, one could say that today is quite an important one. A young man and woman has been bonded into the rather impractical institution of marriage that our society has created and expects others to follow. Today Miss Katherine ‘Kitty’ Winter has become Mrs Katherine ‘Kitty’ Bell, the wife of one of the most respected detective at the NYPD precinct, Mr Marcus Bell. It’s rather pointless really. A paper signed, rings exchanged and vows stated supposedly signifies the prominence of this ceremony in quite the universal sense. ” People raise their eyebrows in frustration while Joan and Kitty just sigh knowing fully well this was coming. Nonetheless, he continues.

“This is the exactly the statement I would have given a few years ago, without the –may I say –guidance of the two most influential people in my life.” Joan’s eyes go up in surprise and Kitty soon follows.

“Joan Watson and Kitty Winter. Being a recovering drug addict, the world seemed just a normal everyday requirement to fulfil. Watson showed me something else. She guided me through the chasms and inferno embracing every aspect of my life. It’s quite ironic. When she first started working with me as a sober companion, I despised her actions. I despised her for the fake smile she could throw around so easily, for the social etiquettes she could effortlessly accept, for the fierce determination she would show in order to ‘fix’ me. However, I couldn’t bring myself to despise _her_. Watson was remarkably skilled in anything she applied herself to, and I had never seen anyone keep up with me so efficiently. Our working relationship progressed into friendship, and into the beautiful partnership. Obstacles followed and we stepped over them without difficulty. It was fascinating to see her grow into an excellent detective. She taught me abilities I wouldn’t have otherwise learnt. _I was better with her._ I didn’t deserve to have a friend –certainly not the most remarkable, inspiration and exceptional woman I have ever had the fortune of knowing.” By the time he looks up, everyone is silently wiping their eyes. Kitty and Marcus have large smiles on their faces, whilst Watson is overwhelmed to hear to his words.

“It couldn’t last for long though. Not when I had the chance to ruin it all. In my delirious moments, I decided that running away to London was the best of ideas to escape the tangle I had created. It was over. The partnership Watson and I shared had dissipated. I arrived in London: unsure of the future, my investigative skills were fading but I had lost the thing I had cherished the most. Then I met Kitty Winter. She and I were broken. We saved each other. Kitty made me realise that everything I had was deposited in New York. She made me realise that I still had the chance to make the past come undone; I still had the chance to apologise to Watson. I hadn’t lost her. She made me cherish the present, because even though life could tarnish the past, it couldn’t possibly threaten the future. If my path hadn’t crossed Kitty’s, I would most certainly have relapsed and would currently be dead from overdose. She reminded me that I didn’t need Watson, rather I wanted her.” Tears are streaming down everyone’s faces, and Joan’s lips are quivering.

“I cannot contemplate in any arbitrary sense that I deserved these two women. All I can say is I’m honoured I have them in my life, and I am here in front of you due to them. Detective Bell, I don’t want Kitty to be given away like this, but I can understand that people eventually they leave to form their own family. She is most cherished to me, and I am certain you will take the utmost care of her. Kitty is more than you could ever imagine her to be and I know she’ll provide you the light she did in mine.”

“As for Watson, I assure you all I won’t make the mistake of losing her again. She is far too precious. I wouldn’t be anything without my dear Watson.”

Sherlock puts the microphone down and focuses on the crowd in front of them. People are cheering, crying, weeping. Gregson is clearly hiding the tears in his eyes. Marcus and Kitty are holding hands, a look on their faces he can’t exactly pinpoint. Watson, on the other hand –well, she is nowhere to be seen.

It’s not long before Kitty stands up, and heads towards the stage. It’s then that Sherlock notices a presence, oddly about Watson’s height, climbing the stairs behind him. Her eyes are filled with gratitude and the first thing she does is punches him in the arm as hard as she can. However short she is, the killer punch she throws is far from little.

“You are an asshole, you know that don’t you?” She fervently wipes her tears as Kitty steps up behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

He just shrugs his shoulder, unable to form a coherent reply.

“To put it mildly, yes.”

He hasn’t even finished uttering the last words that he feels her fall into him, and it isn’t long before he encircles his hands around her waist. Joan extends an arm to Kitty and there they all stand, revelling in each other’s comfortable presence.

Sherlock holds his little family tight: his Watson and their Kitty.

“I love you both, have I told you?” Kitty mumbles.

“It doesn’t hurt to hear it.” Watson lets out a chuckle at Sherlock’s remark as they all pull away.

There’s a big cheer for all three of them, including very loud ones from Marcus, Captain Gregson and Mrs Hudson.

It’s isn’t long before everyone has congratulated the newlyweds and the photography session starts.

In the corner of the room, Joan punches the same spot again, a smirk blossoming on her features.

“Ow, Watson, you’re going to bruise my arm very soon.”

“That’s your problem.”

“That’s the wrong thing to state to your partner.”

“Right. Like you exactly know what to say.”

“Joan, Sherlock, join us for a photo.” Kitty calls out as Marcus happily pulls her out the door.

“The newlyweds are calling us, Watson. What do you say: join them?” He doesn’t think a second before he presses his lips to her forehead, and she doesn’t think back before she leans into his embrace.

He offers her his arm, and she slides hers in the crook. It fits perfectly.

“Shall we, my dear Watson?” They beam at each other.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

****

Joan lies on the hospital bed, drowsy from the multiple painkillers that are entering her bloodstream.

“I am not going to die. Stop fretting for god’s sake.”

Sherlock snaps his neck sharply to face her, a look on his face she can’t quite put her finger on.

“Joan, this is not funny.” Kitty finally stops pacing the room and faces her determinedly.

“You have broken ribs, fractured right arm and leg, cut on your wrist that will take a long time to heal. The pole missed your skull by inches, your jaw was nearly dislocated, and the bullet grazed your shoulder but was aimed directly at your heart. Now tell me Watson, why I should stop fretting when every moment reminds me that you could be dead?” His breathing is shallow, and Sherlock is about to lose his calm.

“I didn’t mean-”

“I couldn’t bear to lose you Watson. One is enough for a lifetime.” He quietly moves the hair framing her face, and chokes back the sob.

Kitty watches them; silently promising that whoever did this to Joan Watson would pay.

Joan closes her eyes from the pain in head, and falls asleep –her hand still in Sherlock’s.

“I’ll take care of Watson. You lead the search warrant with Bell.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

*****

Ten years later, they decide to close shop for good. Captain Gregson has reconciled with his wife and retired from police. Kitty is now Captain Bell, however amusing at it may sound. Marcus Bell has promoted from Detective to Deputy Chief Bell, here at NYPD. They have twins, whom they have named Alannah Joan Bell and James Sherlock Bell.

Sherlock has increased his species of bees, and Joan is now a published author of ‘The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes.’ Joan gets many letters addressed to Mrs Holmes, and they become the entertainment for the day for both of them. Kitty still amusingly calls them Mum and Dad, and nine year olds Alannah and James have become their grandkids. Marcus still gives Sherlock the ‘really-can’t-handle-your -shit’ look from time to time, and Sherlock being Sherlock replies back eloquently.

When Joan is not looking or listening, Sherlock tells Alannah and James a story of a superhero. Kitty and Marcus quietly smile by connecting the metaphor: the superhero is indeed Joan Watson.

And in those moments, Sherlock and Joan spend the short time they have left together. He still manages to wake her up at ungodly hours, and she somehow gives in. She knows that it’s all a way for her to stay, because Holmes would do anything to be with his Watson and so would she. He loves it when she laughs freely, and doesn’t hesitate to engulf her in his arms when the circumstances go awry. And in the very special moments, they sit at the rooftop, watching the bees as he gently braids her hair. Introducing Watson as his wife, Mrs Joan Holmes, has become a habit that he loves to repeat and she secretly loves to indulge in. Legally, they still might be Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson but authentically they are Mr and Mrs Holmes: the world’s famous detective duo.

At the very least, they have all grown fond towards each other. At the very most, they have become a family.

*****

 

 

Kitty and Marcus visit their grave every Thursdays, because they know that every evening on Thursday, Sherlock and Joan would climb to the roof and watch the bees. In a week, Kitty sneaks a few moments away from her job to come to cemetery alone, bringing a picture of the thriving species of Euglassia Watsonia with her.  

It was a Thursday today. Kitty had secretly snuck out of the precinct to come here alone, before they all came as a family in the evening. It was two years of _their_ death anniversary. She still vividly remembered the moment she had seen them die together, hand in hand, never once letting go. They had slipped from the stairs. Stayed in a coma for days, their beds beside each other. _They died together_. However much anyone tried, Sherlock and Joan hung onto each other from the beginning till the end.

Now, she thinks, they watch her from above. Sherlock waffling on about bees, and the absolute necessities to solving cases, and about being bored and she can see Joan shaking her hand fondly, a smile spread out on her graceful features.

She gazes at the engraved tombstone and looks up at the clear sky.

“Alannah says she misses you two, and James still wants to listen to the superhero stories. And even though Marcus doesn’t say anything, I can often see him staring blankly at your place at the precinct. Gregson is fading away from us because of Alzheimer’s but clearly remembers you both. I pretend I don’t cry at night, but I do. I wish you were here, but people die. Their families move on. I don’t think I ever will, but all I can say is thank you. Thank you for giving me a life when I had nearly lost hope on one. Thank you doing everything to save me while I was in danger. Thank you risking your lives to protect mine. Thank you for being my mother and father when I lost them years ago and for reminding me that I would be a good detective one day. I wouldn’t be where I am today without both of you.” She struggles through her words, as tears start to consume her.

“You were my heroes, even though I never said anything. I can at least say it now: you were my inspiration Joan Watson and Sherlock Holmes. You were the first two to whom I said “I love you” and you will be the last. You taught me to be someone who I wanted to be. I will always love you more than anything. Isn’t that the saddest thing?”

Kitty lets her hand linger at the edges of their names.

“ _Holmes and Watson.”_

“Don’t worry; your daughter will be fine. After all, she takes after Holmes and Watson. And they sure were one hell of a duo.”

Kitty senses Sherlock’s and Joan’s comforting presence and smiles slightly through her tears.

“Of course you will. You are _our_ daughter.”

****


End file.
